Monday, December 31, 2018

Is Taos Burning? - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Is Taos Burning?

“…inspired by the pinon nut native to the Southwest.”

- label on a coffee packet

Inspired

Apparently real pinon is not to be had,
Not anymore; the coffee is lesser now
Its taste inspired by a chemistry lab
Although the packet looks the same

Inspired

Instead of coffee flavored with pinon
The bean is only – inspired – and what is that?
It pretends that a chemical is from
The mountain pines of far New Mexico

Inspired

I want to go away to old Taos today
Where they make the best coffee at Michael’s CafĂ©

Sunday, December 30, 2018

Art in Pursuit of Man - Reaction to a Temper Tantrum in a Fashionable Arts Magazine

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Art in Pursuit of Man

Reaction to a Temper Tantrum in a Fashionable Arts Magazine

Art cannot be but in pursuit of man
Whether or not man is in pursuit of art
For men are shifting shoals of shiftlessness
Artistic absolutes that calendar-clique

But art is not defined, not locked in time
Art does not yield her crown in obedience
To yet another Decree 349
To yet another Order of the Day

Art is herself; her names are Sapientia
And Sophia; she creates; she does not obey

Saturday, December 29, 2018

The Ikon Corner - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


The Ikon Corner

“…and looking at a picture on the opposite wall.”

-C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Ikons are windows to another World
Of Theos and Theotokos, of our saints
Some as merry as yet are others stern
While forming from the prayerful writer’s 1 hand

And in the saints the Light of God shines through
True witnesses to that transcendental Truth
And so we pause and with a candle catch
The prayer-light of their eternity

(As does the bedes-spider 2 who lives there)
Ikons are windows to that truer World


1 In Orthodoxy an ikon is said to be written rather than drawn or painted, but y’r ‘umble scrivener is no authority; the reader might begin a study of ikons / icons with:

http://www.pravmir.com/how-to-sep-up-an-icon-corner-at-home/

2 An Orthodox friend discovered that a spider had made its home among his ikons, and so in peace and hierarchical obedience the little creature served God as a sort of canon, or perhaps a bedes-spider, until its death.

Friday, December 28, 2018

The Smart Cave (but with nice curtains) - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Smart Cave

This house is silent now, this new smart house
The storm has downed the power lines; wild rains
Against the windows beat like hungry wolves
And all house gadgetry is silent and still

And just as still: the Barnes & Noble Nook™®
The Ipod™® unsupported, the dead FitBit™®
That failed before its third Christmas day
The La Crosse(tm)® that failed before its second

And dead are all the promises that they gave:
Our silent gadgets in this cold, dark cave

Thursday, December 27, 2018

Ramandu's Island - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Ramandu’s Island 1

Long-fallen stars and quarrelling lords must wait
For seasons upon seasons to pass in flight
Seasons, and Feasts upon a Table set
Untasted by sleepers, and winged away

But, exiles, you may taste of mercy here
And you may taste forever of that Feast
If you are not afraid to hear the silence
Where out of time all healing will be given

If you can trust that which you cannot know -
Long-fallen stars and quarrelling lords will wait


1 C.S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Wednesday, December 26, 2018

The Window Frog - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Window Frog

The human and the tree frog say good night
The human inside and the tree frog out
Sharing a pane of glass but little else
For frogs maintain their standards, don’cha know

And sticky pads and frontal lobes don’t mix
Not in polite reptilian society
Since humans, you know, they’re not really green
Nice enough in their place, of course, but still…

Good frogs dismiss the human as a lazy jerk -
For sleeping while all honest creatures work

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

The Robin's Christmas Dinner - a merriment (a bit rough on the worms, though)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


The Robin’s Christmas Dinner

(ripped from the pages of the Middle Ages – “Sumer is icumen in”)

Merrily he eats the worms
Pull them from the ground!
Their heads pop up
On them he sups
As they squirm around
Chirp, robin!

The squirrels are eating all the seeds
The cardinal’s head’s a-bobbin’
The doves are cooing
The cows are mooing
Chirp merrily, robin!

Robin, robin
How well you chirp
Now eat the worms and burp!

Burp, burp, burp!


On seeing dozens of robins, a squirrel, a woodpecker, a cardinal, and a dove outside my window on Christmas morning.

But the Animals were First - Poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


But the Animals were First

“We read in Isaiah: ‘The ox knows its owner,
and the ass the master’s crib….’”

-Papa Benedict, The Blessings of Christmas

The ox and ass are in the Stable set
In service divine, as good Isaiah writes
A congregation of God’s creatures met
In honor of their King this Night of nights

And there they wait for us, for we are late
Breathless in the narthex of eternity
A star, a road, a town, an inn, a gate
Have led us to this holy liturgy

Long centuries and seasons pass, and yet
The ox and ass are in the Stable set

Monday, December 24, 2018

For Our Mothers on Christmasd Eve - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

For our Mothers on Christmas Eve

For Katherine Mattie Bevil Blanchette Hall, 1922 – 2010
and all our mothers

Beyond all other nights, on this strange Night,
A strangers’ Star, a silent, seeking Star,
Helps set the wreckage of our souls aright:
It leads us to a stable door ajar

And we are not alone in peeking in:
An ox, an ass, a lamb, some shepherds, too -
Bright Star without; a brighter Light within
We children see the Truth those Wise Men knew

For we are children there in Bethlehem
Soft-shivering in that winter long ago
We watch and listen there, in star-light dim,
In cold Judea, in a soft, soft snow

Sunday, December 23, 2018

An Annotated Study in December's Leaf Litter - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

An Annotated Study in December's Leaf Litter

Leaves fallen are summer’s tabernacle
Upon earth as altar, bearing life within
And life without: children, a protesting squirrel
And that storied grasshopper, unprepared

Neither blanket nor carpet, but a studio
Of life, in which cellular structure frames
The secrets of green chloroplastic life
And graphs the sweet, wind-chorused songs of summer

They fall asleep for a time, to awaken in spring:
Leaves fallen are summer’s tabernacle

Saturday, December 22, 2018

Sale - Communion Cups, Recyclable, 1000/box, $9.99 - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Sale – Communion Cups, Recyclable, 1000/box, $9.99

The Holy Grail, the Chalice of Our Lord
Borne to Glastonbury, the Isle of Avalon
By the holy man of Arimathea
Then lost, and quested for by noble knights

The Holy Grail is present still, each day
In vessels blessed for sharing Eucharist
Whose Elevation in the Upper Room
Was then, is now, and forever will be

In setting fit, in prayerful accord:
The Holy Grail, the Chalice of Our Lord

Friday, December 21, 2018

Winter Solstice - The Year's Compline - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Winter Solstice – The Year’s Compline

The winter solstice is the year withdrawing
From all the busy-ness of being-ness,
And life in all its transfigurations
Seems lost beyond this cold, mist-haunted world

Time almost stops. Low-orbiting, the sun
Drifts dimly, drably through Orion’s realm
Morning becomes deep dusk; there is no noon
Four candles are the guardians of failing light

Until that Night when they too disappear
Beneath a Star, before a greater Light


Lawrence Hall
Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go
Available from amazon.com on Kindle and as bits of dead trees

Thursday, December 20, 2018

We Have Built for Ourselves a Faraday Cage - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

We Have Built for Ourselves a Faraday Cage

We have built for ourselves a Faraday cage
And locked ourselves inside; no rays can touch
Our souls codified in magnetic strips
The Good, the True, and the Beautiful in chips

No ray, no beam, no pulse can penetrate
The protection racket of secret codes
(Except when they bloody well can and do)
While we posture behind scientific wires

Passive self-destruction is all the rage

For this

We have built for ourselves a Faraday cage

Wednesday, December 19, 2018

Gotterdammerung of Lesser Gods - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Gotterdammerung of Lesser Gods

Expect no pity as you fall and fall
Weighed down by the medals you gave yourselves
Through your closed loops of self-congratulation
In your officers’ clubs and private planes

You led us from the sky and from the rear
Secure in air-conditioned bunkers sealed
Against pollution by heat and dust and rot
And the uncollected bodies of the dead

Expect no pity as you fall and fall
Weighed down by your accumulated wealth
Through your closed loops of self-congratulation
In boardrooms and governments and private planes

You sacrificed us for your resumes -
You’re out of single-malt; now go away

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

A Polar Vortex Nightmare - rhyming doggerel

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com



A Polar Vortex Nightmare

I saw a polar vortex in my dream
Drinking his coffee with sugar and cream
Then water skiing on the warm gulf stream –
He seemed to plan, he seemed to plot, to scheme

I tried to wake, I tried to warn, to scream
But wait – now just what is this wild dream’s theme?
Why was my sleep all night a mental steam?
My dream was confused, for this was the meme:

My gutter ball alienated my team

And so

I saw a bowler vortex in my dream

Churchill and Christmas, 1941 - a very brief weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

“Let the Children Have Their Night of Fun and Laughter”

Y’r ‘Umble Scrivener can add nothing to the Christmas narratives in St. Matthew and St. Luke, and will refrain from any attempt to babble about “the true meaning of Christmas” (all major credit cards accepted), and so for this week yields this space to the words of Churchill on the first Christmas of the Second World War for the USA, but the third Christmas of the war for his nation. His words address a specific situation in 1941, but for every Christmas they still apply:

          Let the children have their night of fun and laughter. Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight    
          their play. Let us grown-ups share to the full in their unstinted pleasures before we turn again
          to the stern task and the formidable years that lie before us, resolved that, by our sacrifice and
          daring, these same children shall not be robbed of their inheritance or denied their right to live
          in a free and decent world.

          And so, in God's mercy, a happy Christmas to you all.

          Winston Churchill
          December 24, 1941
          Washington, D.C.

(https://www.nationalchurchillmuseum.org/christmas-message.html)

-30-


Monday, December 17, 2018

Apocalyptic Clothing and the Goddess of Doom - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Apocalyptic Clothing and the Goddess of Doom

The one-off bag is by Louis Vouitton
The sheath dress by Dolce & Gabbana
The low-top shoes by Christian Louboutin
The vaporisation is by Sukhoi

Evening wear goes with biologicals
Retro pantsuits with a casual bomb
Alice Archer jeans for a weekend massacre
Jonathan Simkhai swimwear for an ocean boil

Ohhhhh, yeahhhhhhhh…

She turns every head when she enters the room
But The People’s Army delivers the BOOM

Sunday, December 16, 2018

Gaudete Sunday with Young Genghis Khans in Training - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Gaudete Sunday with Young Genghis Khans in Training

How difficult to rejoice when one hears
That those relatives against whose predations
Dead-bolts have been fitted on every door
Are visiting for Christmas after all

Let us rejoice that the nephews who pick locks
And break the windows in the garden shed
And ride the patio doors off their hinges
And pocket pewter chessmen for their play

Will be with us merrily once more
With their mothers – ‘tis the season to abhor

Saturday, December 15, 2018

Playing Hide-and-Go-Seek in Eden - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Playing Hide-and-Go-Seek in Eden

In a deep summer dusk that seems forever
A twilight of fireflies and magic found
Small children barefoot ‘round the universe
Happily pursued by a mysterious It

Home base is the foot of the old porch steps
Beneath a pantheon of elders wise:
Mothers and fathers and uncles and aunts
And in their Old Gold cigarette incense we

Tumble like puppies on those old porch steps
In a deep summer dusk that is forever





My vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree: The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.

Friday, December 14, 2018

The A.M. Radio Station Lets Us Down - a really bad rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The A.M. Radio Station Lets Us Down

Their revenue stream must be falling bad -
Yet another erectile dysfunction ad

Thursday, December 13, 2018

Drunks and Screamers and Louts - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Drunks and Screamers and Louts (oh, my)

If there are any stockings hung by the chimney with care in the Oval Office, they were surely blown askew last week by the circular temper-tantrums of the President, House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, and Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer. A life-like statue of harmless Vice-President Michael Pence was also present.

If junior high school students were to misbehave as badly as the leaders of the Republic they would be sent to the assistant principal’s office for a reprimand.

The statue of the vice-president, however, would be taken for the new mascot and draped with a toboggan cap and scarf in school colors.

The cranky old people who reign and rule over us can also nyah-nyah at each other while high in the sky:

The presidential aircraft fleet includes (but is not limited to) two BUFF modified Boeing 747s. There is also a number of helicopters crewed and served by some 800 – yes, 800 – Marines (https://www.airplanesofthepast.com/united-states-presidential-aircraft.htm).

The vice-president has access to two modified Boeing 757s so that the president can say that his is bigger.

The Speaker of the House enjoys, by presidential fiat after 9.11.2001, access to military jets for himself or herself, staff, and family. The once and future Speaker, Nancy Pelosi, is well known for her sense of aviation privilege.

The Speaker of the House does not rate a government aircraft, only free rides on commercial aircraft. The current speaker once indulged in the house privilege of calling a flight attendance a b**** (http://www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/plane-rude-sen-charles-schumer-refers-female-flight-attendant-b-word-article-1.436069) for asking him to turn his me-phone off as if he were one of (harrumph) The People.

Officials of the Justice Department and other functionaries also enjoy access to luxury aircraft at your expense (https://www.thoughtco.com/who-flies-on-the-taxpayers-dime-3321451).

Generals and admirals, too, can snap their fingers (or at least their office phones) and summon planes and helicopters for themselves, their families, and their special friends (https://www.military.com/daily-news/2012/06/25/generals-not-disciplined-in-misuse-of-aircraft.html), (https://www.reuters.com/article/us-usa-generals-demotion-idUSBRE8AD06620121114), and (http://www.nydailynews.com/news/national/petraeus-wife-holly-furious-affair-article-1.1200586).

When commercial flying became popular in the 1950s and 1960s air travel long remained an occasion of decorum – men wore coats and ties, women wore dresses, gloves, and hats, and courtesy was a given.

Flying now is like being shoved into an old bus crowded with drunks and louts and screaming children. Given that Proletarian reality, government officials ought to give up the luxury aircraft and join us in cattle class – they’d fit right in with the other drunks and louts and screamers, and it would help the national budget.

-30-

Every Real American Boy Needs (That Rifle) - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Every Real American Boy Needs (That Rifle)

“You Can Tell It’s Mattel It’s Swell (tm)” 1

-A toymaker’s slogan applied to (That Rifle) in the 1960s

(That Rifle) often fires when it should not
Its chosen function is usually to jam
But, da®n, it’s black and sexy and hot -
Blows off testosterone when it goes Bam-Bam

And when it discharges, so does its owner
A little bullet from a little spout
With his stud piece, no longer a loner -
True love from each basement dweller and lout

Maybe it makes guys feel all hunky-hunk -
Well, they are welcome to that piece of junk

1 Mattel has never had any connection with the manufacture of weapons.

Wednesday, December 12, 2018

Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe, Alcoholics Anonymous, and the American Legion - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe,
Alcoholics Anonymous, and the American Legion

The American Legion meets in the parish hall
Third Tuesday every month (missed you last time)
Old men in funny hats saluting the flag
And then again re-living AIT

Their perimeter shrinks as children rehearse
Their songs and dances for tomorrow night
In honor of Nuestra Senora -
With Juan Diego’s tilma She blesses the Americas

In a classroom across the way the AA
Are fighting their dragons as manfully
As good Saint George, and so in very truth
They are fighting dragons for all of us

This is Our Lady’s cocina, open to all:
Everybody meets in the parish hall

Tuesday, December 11, 2018

The Last Day - And Now, Unemployment

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Last Day - And Now, Unemployment

Not much longer now before we and Keats
Must pack up all our impedimenta
Into a photocopier paper box
And after a Wal-Mart-cake reception – leave

No one will notice us, and that’s okay
Thomas and Frost will meet us with the car
Greene will suggest that we go for a drink
The designated driver might be Shakespeare

With Fermor beside him reading the map
Guareschi and Wodehouse laughing in the back
Lewis and Chesterton will bring the beer
And Leonard Cohen will adjust his hat

In God’s name we will sit under the apple trees
And tell merry tales of the lives of kings


     And whether we shall meet again I know not.
     Therefore our everlasting farewell take:
     For ever, and for ever, farewell…
     If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;
     If not, why, then, this parting was well made.

       -Julius Caesar V.1.115-119
 
 
After a year of rumors and contradictory bits of information, the once-busy satellite campus of my community college surrendered the buildings today.
 
A commitment among several institutions requires me to haunt the mostly empty halls (like Marley's Ghost) for the spring to finish teaching classes, but for the staff, a casual dismissal into unemployment now.
 
The Psalmist tells us not to put our trust in princes; I would add "...or in elected bodies."


Monday, December 10, 2018

Harney & Sons Logo Teacup $9.95 - rhyming Couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Harney & Sons Logo Teacup $9.95

I love few things better than a cup of tea
But with that advert – shouldn’t they pay me?

Sunday, December 9, 2018

"We Are Pregnant!" - a rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

"We Are Pregnant!"

“We are pregnant!” the husband happily cried
“No, we are not,” the tired wife knowingly sighed

Saturday, December 8, 2018

Autumn Night Across the Border Wire - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Autumn Night Across the Border Wire

I.

How wonderful to sleep in a soft, warm bed
Beneath a roof against the blowing night
Of wind and rain rattling each window pane
As winter falls upon this weary world

The busy-ness of day is all complete
I wind the clock and so unwind myself
My little dog burrows toward my feet
Contented with her life, with warmth, with me

And now a few more pages to be read -
How wonderful to sleep in a soft, warm bed

V: Deo gratias


II.

But good enough to sleep in an old, worn bag
Beneath a tarp against the blowing night
Of wind and rain rattling the plastic flaps
As winter falls upon the weary world

The emptiness of day is incomplete
And bigger guys stole my cheap Timex watch
Now slithering rats burrow toward my feet
And bite to see if they can feast on me

Another night to be drained and bled
I remember - long ago – sleeping in a bed

R: Your Deo gratias ain’t much help

Friday, December 7, 2018

If Wars Were Subject to Copyright - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


If Wars Were Subject to Copyright

If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then candidates would have to pay a fee
Each time they appeal to the glorious past
When standing for the election, the proceeds
To fall like bloody weregeld on the dead
Who can never cash the checks anyway

If wars were subject to a copyright -
Then Hollywood movies should pay their dues
Whenever a bold, scripted commando,
Body-waxed muscles glistening with makeup,
Advances up Hamburger-Helper Hill
With a patriotic song on his lipstick

If wars were subject to a copyright –
The generals’ memoirs, the admirals’, too,
Would pay to lighten the blighted young lives
Of soul-fragmented lads whose pain and blood
Won the air-conditioned another star
And unctuous applause at the officers’ club

If wars were subject to a copyright -
The President would have to pay his bill
Each time he banged the lectern for a war,
That glorious dux bellorum dux-ing
From the rear, while a squadron of pigs fly
Above, powered by pixie-dust and smoke

Thursday, December 6, 2018

A Conversion Experience... - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Conversion Experience at the Bright Light Free Will Four Square Full Gospel Missionary Temple Outreach of the Lord Jesus Christ 501C3 of the Lamb Ministries the Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Apostle Brother Billy-Bob Hairdo and His Honored First Lady Disciple Irma-Mae a-Brangin’ Messages and a-Suckin’ in Government Grant Money


Here is a list of the thangs we is aginner
If you do any of this stuff, yew air a sinner


(Th’ Lord accepts all major credit cards for His work)

Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Yes, But I Don't Own a Motorcycle - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Yes, But I Don’t Own a Motorcycle

Are you a Viet-Nam veteran, old man?

          Yes, but I don’t own a motorcycle

And do you really love America?

          Yes, but I don’t own a motorcycle

And are you saved?

          Beats the H*** outta me

Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Annoyme.com - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Annoyme.com

An Advertising Monologue in Upspeak

So I just went on annoyme.com
And like I found my ring you know like on
Annoyme.com where you will find
Those unique designs that you just can’t find

And those really famous great big name brands
AND YOU KNOW WHICH ONES I’M TALKING ABOUT
Annoyme.com has the selections and styles
You want to see at annoyme.com

I’m going back on annoyme.com
Today, right now, while I should be at work

(Repeat many times each day for weeks and weeks until the listener changes radio stations.)

Monday, December 3, 2018

Christmas Music and the Fire Alarm in McDonald's Share the Loudspeakers - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Christmas Music and the Fire Alarm in McDonald’s Share the Loudspeakers

What Child is this WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP! WHEEP! WHOP!
WHEEP!...
In Mary’s lap is sleeping…

“It’s okay, folks; it was just the muffins.”

Whom angels greet…
                                       “I don’t want a muffin, thanks.”
With anthems sweet…

Sunday, December 2, 2018

An Advent Rosary - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


An Advent Rosary

Dark Advent is a silent waiting time
When autumn chills into pale, year-end days
And joy seems smothered by hard-frosting rime:
Cold is the debt that spring to winter pays

The seasons link to seasons in a chain,
The chain of being that links, also, our souls,
Seasons and souls, not always without pain:
Summer’s wild lightning falls and thunder rolls.

Linked to us too, rose by mystical rose,
This holy Advent is Our Lady’s Grace
To us who wait in exile sad; she knows
Where souls and seasons sing, the Night, the Place.

Seasons and souls, linked to days dreary-dim:
Follow them with roses to Bethlehem

Saturday, December 1, 2018

The Last Week after Pentecost - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Last Week after Pentecost

A calling-crow-cold sky ceilings the world,
Lowering the horizon to itself
All silvery and grey upon the fields
Of pale, exhausted, dry-corn-stalk summer

The earth is tired, the air is cold, the dawn
False-promises nothing but an early dusk
As calling-cold-crows crowd the world with noise,
Loud-gossiping from tree to ground to sky

Soon falling frosts and fields of ice will fold
Even those fell, foolish fowls into the depths
Of dark creek bottoms where dim ancient oaks
Hide darkling birds from wild blue northern winds

Crows squawk of Advent disapprovingly,
For Advent-autumn drifts to Christmastide
When all the good of the seasonal year
Then warms and charms the house, the hearth, the heart